Old Friends
by Moe32
Summary: Jim and Pam, a few years from now.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

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**Fall, 2008**

She looked at Frank, innocently sitting by the door, and laughed. He had dragged his leash from the closet, and in the process, had knocked over the four umbrellas that had been stored at the bottom of the closet. "Okay, okay, let's go,"she said,letting the fluffy gray mutt run down the hall.

As she walked down her stoop, Frank began pulling to the left, towards the dog park. Pam ignored him and turned left. She had an urge for an early afternoon ice cream cone, and ice cream trumped dog park any day. They stopped at the Tasti-D-Lite on Lexington Ave, and Gobind, the owner, ignored the health code violations when Pam entered with Frank. She was a regular customer, and Frank was pretty harmless. They walked north a few blocks, while Pam enjoyed her ice cream. She closed her eyes momentarily and turned her head towards the sun. It was a beautiful day, and she knew it was one of the last warm days of the season. At each cross street, Frank tried to turn right, heading towards the East River Esplanade. Finally, at 83th Street, she obliged.

They walked on the sunny side of the street, and all was peaceful until Frank lurched towards a cocker spaniel coming the opposite way. Frank's enthusiasm for everything—people, other dogs, bacon—always made Pam laugh, but not when she was walking and carrying ice cream. She tripped and dropped the cone, getting her hands sticky in the process. She tried to reprimand him, but as soon as she looked at his brown eyes, she had to smile, and she let him lick her hands clean instead.

They approached Peter's, a small café on the corner of Second Ave where Pam had always wanted to eat. People were sitting at tables set out on the sidewalk, eating brunch and drinking mimosas. Pam looked at the frittatas longingly, but reminded herself that she had just treated herself to ice cream, and was about to look away when her eyes suddenly met his.

Her heart stopped. Her feet stopped. And Frank, being an obedient companion, stopped with her,eyeing the pancakes on the table closest to them. She hadn't seen him in two and a half years, but there was no mistaking him. His hair was shorter, he had gained a few pounds, but his smile was the same. He was smiling at his table-mate, telling an animated story, his arms flailing around. He punctuated his story with a laugh, and at that moment, he caught sight of Pam, still rooted in the same spot.

"Pam!" His eyes were wide with surprise, but his voice was warm and inviting.

"Hey!" She finally found her voice, although she was sure it sounded strange.

He stood up and greeted her with an enthusiastic hug. Pam felt like she was in a dream. She had forgotten what he smelled like, but as soon as he enveloped her, things she hadn't thought about in a long time came flooding back.

She stepped back, a bit dizzy. This was too surreal. "What—what are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here? I live here!"

"Are you kidding me?" Pam said with an incredulous look, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

"Don't tell me you live in New York."

"I live on 80th and Third," she said. Now, it was Jim's turn to be speechless. "What—where do you live?" She was almost afraid to hear his answer.

"I live three blocks from here."

They stared at each other in disbelief, until Jim gave Pam another hug. "God, its great to see you Pam." He sounded genuine, and for that, Pam was grateful.

"Hey, I'm sorry, let me introduce you. This is my friend, Amy," Jim said, gesturing towards his dining partner, someone Pam hadn't even noticed until this moment. "Amy, this is Pam, an old friend." Pam tore her gaze from the pretty blonde and looked back at Jim. An old friend. She knew it was just a figure of speech, but the thought of being Jim's friend againmade something in herheart stir--something that had been quiet for a long, long time.

"Well hi! I love meeting Jim's friends!" Pam was forced to look back at Amy. She had a warm smile and a big chest. Amy extended her hand, and before she realized what she was doing, Pam was shaking it with her ice cream/dog drool hand. "Oh--sorry!" She said, grabbing her hand away and pointing at the dog. "I hope you don't mind a little dog drool."

Amy laughed. "Of course not, I love dogs," she said, and kneeled down to scratch Frank under his chin. He was immediately putty in her hands, and rolled onto his back for a full rub-down. Amy obliged, scratching him in his favorite spots.

Amy was entertained, so the two old friends turned back to one another. "God—there's so much to catch up on," Jim said. "How's Roy?"

At the sound of his name, Pam's mouth tightened a bit. "He's good. . . . I've heard he's good," she said with a little nod, hoping she wouldn't have to say more.

Jim looked at her with surprise, but seemed to get the hint. "Oh, okay." He seemed flustered. "So, uh, so, what are you doing here? Are you working for Dunder-Mifflin?"

Pam was relieved the subject had been changed. "Oh, god no!" she said with mock horror. "I left about a year and a half ago. I'm still a secretary, but I'm working at a publishing house." She gave a little laugh. "I've moved from blank paper to paper with actual _writing_ on it."

Jim kept on smiling at her, and she suddenly realized that she was blushing. She turned away and glanced towards the street, hoping he wouldn't notice her warm cheeks.

"That's great, Pam. Paper with writing on it!" He gave afriendly laugh. "So, who is your supplier? Please tell me you are supporting our favorite mid-size independent paper company."

She had to look at him again, and tried to suppress her smile. "Don't report me. We use the big bad chain store."

"No—not Staples!" They broke into an easy laugh, and it seemed to Pam as if very little had changed.

"So, what are you up to?" Pam asked.

"Actually, I work in advertising."

"Really?" Pam couldn't hide her surprise. It made sense. He was really clever and could think on his feet, but whenever she thought of him, she had always imagined he was still in sales.

"Yeah. My cousin knew a friend who was starting her own business and wanted to recruit some people with no background in advertising—you know, get some fresh ideas. I guess I fit the bill. It's worked out pretty well so far."

Amy was finished playing with Frank, and joined Jim and Pam. Suddenly feeling like a third wheel, Pam became aware that she had interrupted their meal. Their food lay cold on the table.

"Hey, I'm really sorry for interrupting. I didn't mean to ruin your meal."

"Oh, that's okay!" Amy said with a smile. "It was great meeting you Pam."

Pam took the hint. "Oh, okay. Great meeting you, too, Amy," she said, forcing a smile. She turned to Jim again. "Well, wow, it was really great to run into you." She wanted to say more, but couldn't.

"Yeah, Pam, this was really nice. We shouldn't wait another two years before we talk again."

Pam nodded. That was the understatement of the year. She was about to say something, anything, just to continue the conversation, but suddenly he was giving her a hug good-bye, and heading back to his table, smiling at Amy.

That was it. No teary reunion, just a "hey, nice to see ya', lets do this again some time." She began to walk away, but looked back at him, hoping that she could meet his gaze. It didn't happen. He was already settled back into conversation with Amy, engrossed in whatever she was saying.

She willed her legs to move, one foot in front of the other. It wasn't until she reached the park that she realized that she hadn't asked him what his phone number was or where he lived. And he didn't seem to care.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Jim tried in vain to concentrate on Amy's words. She was telling a story about two co-workers that had drunkenly hooked up the night before, but Jim couldn't quite follow it. His head was still spinning from his chance encounter with Pam. What were the odds that they would both end up in New York, much less in the same neighborhood?

He gave his head a little shake, trying to physically get her out of his thoughts. "Um, so what did Lou say this morning?"

"I just told you—he said that nothing happened, but we _all _saw him kissing Christine. I mean, they were at the booth next to us! Real subtle."

"Yeah, that's crazy." Jim said, absentmindedly.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Amy asked, concerned.

"Oh, um, nothing. I guess I'm just tired." Jim feigned a yawn.

Amy reached over and grabbed his thigh. "I guess I kept you up pretty late last night," she said, with a suggestive smile.

Jim couldn't help but smile at the memory, and for the first time in a half-an-hour, his mind turned from Pam to Amy. "Amers, this is a family place," he laughed, moving her hand back onto the table. "Let's get the check."

* * *

Jim walked Amy to Trinity Bar, where she bartended on the weekends as her second job. He dropped her off, and then headed back to his small apartment on 85th and First. It was a sixth floor walk-up, but Jim had gotten used to the climb. He threw his keys down on his bookshelf and flopped his long body on his too-short futon. All of his windows faced narrow alleyways, so even on the sunniest days, the apartment was dark. Jim didn't bother turning on any lights. He just wanted to close his eyes and think. 

When he first saw her, he suddenly felt his whole world just . . . shift. Someone that literally defined a life he left far behind just sauntered right into the middle of brunch. They had been talking about a crazy camping trip Jim had gone on last year, when all of the sudden—wham. There she was.

The shock of seeing Pam was finally wearing off, and he could actually think about what this meant. He was happy with his life in New York. He was happy with Amy. They had been dating for about two months, and things were going really well. She had a great laugh and loved his friends, and she had the cutest Minnesota accent.

Thinking about Pam . . . he couldn't even define what he was feeling. When he had first moved to Stamford, he was a mess. The confession, followed by the kiss and the rejection, took a lot out of him. He moped around in a daze for the first month of his new job. For a while he harbored hope that Pam would come to her senses and run into his arms. That flicker of optimism was extinguished when he saw her wedding announcement from the paper. He had googled it. Pathetic, he knew, but he had to see it for himself. There she was, in a white dress, with a veil, her arm entwined with Roy's. At that moment, he knew he had to move on.

Five months later, he quit his job at Dunder-Mifflin Stamford. He had taken a good hard look at himself, and realized that there was nothing keeping him attached to the paper company. It had been a rough year. Despite his intentions, it was difficult to get over Pam. Things were getting easier, though. He had thought about her every day, but the screaming pain he had felt radiating from his heart through his entire body slowly but surely became simply a dull ache. He could learn to live with the dull ache.

His cousin Finn had a free couch in her apartment in New York, so he arrived in January of 2007. The combination of a new city and a new career having nothing to do with paper had a restorative effect on Jim. He began to feel like himself again. He made fast friends with his co-workers, all of whom were interesting, normal people. None of them ordered deer urine on the internet.

He thought he would miss Scranton, miss his friends, and miss Pam. But to be honest, Pam occupied his thoughts less and less. It wasn't her fault; it was just that she was part of what he had come to recognize as a pretty unpleasant part of his life. For three years, he thought he was happy enough just having her in his life, just being her friend. But looking back, he realized how miserable he was. It was his fault for being so paralyzed.

He didn't know how he got the courage to tell her how he felt, but it was the best thing he could've done. He had gotten desensitized to the small, day-to-day pinpricks to his heart. Seeing Roy with his arms around Pam hardly even got to him anymore. He needed the living shit kicked out of his heart in order to wake him out of his torpor, and that's what he got when she said, "I can't." And for that, he was grateful. If she hadn't been honest with him, he might still be sitting next to Dwight, watching his life pass by without him.

He had come to terms with this a long time ago. He was over her. He was happy now. He was happy with Amy. But lying in his dim living room, his arm flung over his eyes to block out the world, he let himself imagine what his life would have been like if he had stayed. He saw himself pulling his hair out with frustration over Michael and Dwight, but he also saw himself standing by her desk. He remembered the moments of pure joy when he would say something funny, and her eyes would light up, and she would throw her head back in laughter. He was happy, but nothing he had now came close to that feeling.

"Come _on_," he suddenly said out loud, pounding his fist on the futon. "Get a grip Halpert." He was not going to sink back into this. He had fought too hard to extricate himself from her pull. He couldn't go through that again.

He hadn't asked her for her phone number. He had seen a flash of hurt in her eyes when he said good-bye so suddenly, but he refused to think about it. He didn't want her number. Right now his only goal was self-preservation, and for him, that meant forgetting that today ever happened.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why would you want to go all the way down to the Home Depot? There's a perfectly good hardware store on 80th and Lexington. We can get the paint there." Amy said, exasperated.

"They'll have a better selection," Jim responded, half-heartedly.

"What—afraid Norman's won't have the perfect shade of pink?" Amy said, with a twinkle in her eye.

Jim threw a pillow at her, knowing that he had lost the battle. He hadn't seen the need to re-paint his bedroom, but Amy hated the current shade—"I feel like I'm in a psychiatric ward!"—so today was the day. Now he was dreading the chore. He would give anything to avoid Norman's Hardware, a store that was just a block away from Pam's place.

For the past three weeks, he had done a pretty good job of avoiding any chance encounters with her. He went to work early and stayed late, just so he wouldn't see her on the subway. He took Amy out in her neighborhood, and spent a few nights there, even though she had a lumpy bed.

His plan was working. He had to admit that she was always in the back of his mind, but he did a pretty good job of pushing her way back into the dark corners. He was on a really interesting campaign at work, and he threw his energies into it. When he wasn't working, he was spending time with Amy. Maybe it was guilt over the fact that his thoughts occasionally strayed to another woman, but he made an extra effort to romance the socks off of her.

Now he was going to have to head down to 80th Street. He knew it was stupid to have so much anxiety about the shopping trip, after all, he had walked down her street a thousand times over the past year and a half and had never run into her. But now that he knew it was a possibility, he was filled with dread.

* * *

Pam looked at her to-do list for the weekend. She desperately needed a haircut, and had to go to the post office to pick up a package. She also could go to the drugstore to pick up some shampoo and toothpaste. There was a CVS right next to her apartment, but she grabbed Frank's leash, and the two of them set out for the Duane Reade on 84th and 2nd. 

Over the past three weeks, it had become a routine for Pam. She knew odds were her against her. He had said he lived three blocks away from the restaurant, but three blocks covered a lot of territory when you had no idea in what direction to head. So she found herself running more errands than usual, and going out of her way to explore Jim's side of the neighborhood.

As she walked, she looked at the apartment buildings, and wondered what type of place he had. Was it a large condo in one of the new high rise buildings? He was a successful ad man now, maybe he could afford it. Looking in the lobby of one of the buildings, with the over-the-top gold mirrors and the uniformed doorman, she decided it wasn't Jim's style. At least, it wasn't his style when she knew him. Maybe he had changed.

She walked by a small building on the shady side of 84th street. A young couple was sitting on the stoop with their dog. Frank stopped to inspect his new friends, and Pam looked up at the old, but charming building. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was in his apartment right now, two floors up, thinking of her. Maybe.

* * *

Jim and Amy lugged two cans of blue paint, along with various brushes and tarps up the six flights of stairs. Amy still wasn't used to the climb, and flung herself on his futon when they arrived in his apartment. 

"God, how to you manage to do that everyday?"

"Well, I'm usually not carrying half the inventory of Norman's Hardware."

"Ha Ha." Amy began sorting through the various bags, organizing things for what she realized was their first "domestic" date. She smiled as she imagined them making love on the tarp when they were done with the walls, blue paint in their hair. Then she would pour him some wine, and they would sit out on the fire escape, wrapped up in a blanket and enjoying the crisp fall air. It sounded like a perfect Saturday to her.

"Oh no," she said, breaking her train of thought. "We forgot masking tape!"

"What do we need tape for?"

"Jim—have you ever painted a room before?"

"Of course," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "we can just slap a few coats on. It'll take half-an-hour."

"Arg! Not to be picky, but you really need to put masking tape on the molding to make sure you get a clean edge."

Jim looked at her incredulously. "You want me to trudge all the way back there so that we can have clean edges?"

"You've got it!" Amy gave him a peck on his cheek and tucked a five-dollar bill in his front pocket. "My treat. I'm sure the Duane Reade has got some."

* * *

Jim didn't see the shaggy gray dog tied to a post outside the drugstore when he walked in. He headed right to the school supplies section, and found the masking tape right away. He had turned around to head back to the cash register, when all of the sudden he saw her. She was wearing jeans and a red v-neck sweater. He recognized the sweater. He used to love when she wore it because its wide neck exposed her collarbone. He used to sit at his desk and think about kissing her from her shoulder to her neck, paying close attention to that delicate area. 

But now he was standing in a Duane Reade, holding masking tape for his girlfriend, and she was kneeling down, examining bottles of shampoo. She didn't see him.

He could walk away right now. He could walk away and she would never know, and his life would be a lot easier. He could go home to Amy, and forget about painting, and make love to her all afternoon.

But what would that solve? He couldn't live in constant fear of running into her. And what did he have to be afraid of? He was over her, completely. She was just an old friend. He pushed the memory of that soft red sweater back into the shadowy corners of his mind where the rest of his thoughts of Pam were lurking, and walked towards her.

"Hey."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey."

His voice startled her. Despite the fact that she came to the drugstore hoping to run into him, she didn't think she actually would. Now that she had, she had no idea what to say.

She stood up, reflexively smoothing her hair. She was wearing an old sweater and a pair of dirty jeans. She wished she had worn something else.

"Hey." She hoped she didn't sound too eager.

"Fancy meeting you here. Twice in a month, huh? I think you might be stalking me," he said, with a laugh.

She tried to laugh, too, wondering if he knew how close to the truth his joke was.

An awkward silence followed, and Pam started fiddling with her necklace. Say something, anything. "So what are you up to?" she said, nodding to the tape Jim was holding.

"Oh, we're painting my bedroom, but evidently you need tape for 'clean edges.' Who knew?"

We. Pam's heart sunk a notch from his use pronoun. Did "we" include that girl he was eating brunch with, Amy? Probably.

"So what are you doing?" he continued.

"I was just taking Frank to the dog park, and I thought I'd pick up some things on the way," she said, holding up the bottle of shampoo that was still in her hand. Thank god she hadn't picked up tampons yet.

Another silence. They were standing a few apart, and an old woman with a walker tottered between them, grabbing some soap from the shelf, unaware of the conversation she was interrupting.

Pam took the opportunity to gather her thoughts. She had to keep him talking. "How's you mom?" she said as soon as the old woman walked away. She couldn't think of anything better to say. She wanted to kick herself.

"She's doing good. I think she wants me to move back to Scranton, though. I don't get back that often, and she's only visited New York once."

"I know, it's hard having visitors here. My entire apartment is about the size of the Dunder-Mifflin break room, so my parents have to get a hotel room whenever they come up. It gets pretty expensive."

"Right! When my mom visited, she stayed at my place, and it's not meant for two people. I was tripping over her suitcase all weekend. I gave her my bedroom, so I had to sleep on my futon."

"Futon?" she said, with a mischievous smile.

"Yeah, futon. My couch wouldn't fit. Hey, do girls your age like futons?" He matched her smile.

She had to laugh, remembering Jim's face when she had first told him about what Michael had said, years ago. It had been a running joke between them for a while. The fact that he still remembered thrilled her. And Jim had implied he lived alone. Good.

Their laughter was interrupted by a young mother, carrying her crying son, reaching in between them for some baby shampoo.

Pam refused to let the moment of good will pass. As soon as the mother walked away and the crying subsided, she said, "We must be in a high-traffic spot here. Do you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite to eat?" She surprised herself, but she had been looking for him for a long time--maybe longer than these past three weeks. She wasn't going to leave it up to chance.

"Um . . . actually . . . actually I can't," he said, avoiding her gaze. If he had looked at her, he would've seen her face fall, and the laughter in her eyes replaced by disappointment. "I should get back . . . Amy is waiting for me."

So it was Amy. She wasn't surprised. He was an amazing guy. Of course he would have a girlfriend. But she couldn't help feeling a tightness around her heart.

"Oh, of course," she said, trying to sound light. "I, I've got a lot to do today, too."

"Yeah." He was looking at her shoulder, still avoiding her eyes. "Well, I guess I'll see you around." He started to walk away.

No, this was not happening. She would not let it end this way. "Jim . . ."

He turned around, and their eyes finally locked. There was another moment of silence, while Pam struggled with what to say. "Jim . . . I hope we can be friends again."

Something in Jim's expression changed. She thought she saw a hint of . . . what? Pain? Sadness? Resignation? He sighed, and looked down at her feet. Pam felt as though a lifetime passed before he spoke again. He finally looked back into her eyes. "I'd like that, too."

Pam felt as though her heart might soar right out of her chest. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she knew her smile betrayed her. "Okay."

They both stood their ground, fidgeting a little. How does one revive a friendship that had been dead for so long?

Jim finally spoke. "Listen, a bunch of my friends are getting together tonight. We usually go to this bar on Saturday nights, Olde City Tavern, on 11th and Avenue A. Do you know it?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Anyways, I know its kind of strange, but we get together for a couple of rounds of competitive Pictionary." His words were rushed.

"Competitive Pictionary?"

"I know—kind of odd. It's like a trivia night. There are a bunch of teams, we're all pretty much regulars, and at the end of the night, the winning team gets three free pitchers of beer. Imported, not Coors Light or anything like that. Anyways, it's a lot of fun, and you're welcome to come, but only if you want."

"I would really like that," she said, her smile growing.

"Okay, good." He still seemed nervous. "Alright . . . see you at nine."

* * *

She had tried on countless outfits, wanting to look her best, but not look like she was trying to look her best. It was a fine line. Based on the neighborhood, she guessed the bar would be pretty gritty, so she went with jeans, boots, and a green shirt that was slightly tighter her usual fare. She turned sideways and looked in the mirror. Nothing compared to Amy, but that Victoria's Secret bra _did_ work wonders.

Her hair was shoulder length--shorter than it was in Scranton--and because there was less weight pulling it down, her hair was much curlier now. Her friend Susannah also had curly hair, and had introduced her to some wonderful goop that contained her frizz, but let her curls run free. She checked her hair in the mirror, and decided to just let it be. She put on a coat of lip gloss, and left it at that. She didn't want to seem too eager. She tried to calm herself down. This was just a regular night out. A night with an old friend. Relax.

* * *

Jim and Amy got there a little early to secure a good table. He probably should've warned Pam that it was a pretty competitive bunch. The tables were set up in a rough semi-circle, with small easels in front of each table. If you got the one in the back corner, none of the other teams could sneak a look at your easel, but the people sitting towards the back of the table had a pretty good view of their neighbor's drawings. And in Competitive Pictionary, with imported beer on the line, any advantage was worth it.

Slowly, the bar began filling up. It was an ancient tavern, and smell of must mixed with stale beer usually kept the yuppie crowd out. The Ligers, an obnoxious team that usually beat Jim's group, sat at the table next to them. Jim hated those guys. Jim's teammates soon joined them, and he was ordering a round of beers at the bar when Pam walked in.

He was momentarily taken aback, first by her beauty, then by the surreal nature of the situation. She was at Pictionary night? He felt his worlds colliding again, but decided he was just going to have to get used to it. He was being honest with her that morning. He did want to be her friend. He could handle being her friend.

He greeted her with a beer, and noticed that she wore the same perfume that she wore two years ago. He tried to ignore the thought, and brought her over to introduce her to the gang.

"So this is the team—the Bumlookers." He saw Pam's questioning look. "It's a long story. You know Amy," he said, and Amy greeted Pam with a hug. It was strange sight for Jim, so he moved on. "And that's Finn, her boyfriend Walt, Phil, SaraJane, Scott, Theo, and Grace."

Pam sat down next to Amy, and Amy immediately began explaining the rules to Pam. Phil looked at Jim with a raised eyebrow, but Jim ignored him.

Six rounds later, the game was rocking. Everyone's drawing had gone downhill after the fourth round of beer, but the worse the drawings were, the more laughter errrupted when it was revealed what it was supposed to be.

Jim threw his pencil down in mock disgust. "Oh _come_ _on_! That's clearly a tornado, right?" he said, pointing to a large swirl in the middle of the page. And the furniture in the tornado? It's no longer in the house," gesturing to an empty square with a triangle for a roof. "Get it? Everything's gone with the tornado! _Gone with the Wind_!"

The team groaned, and SaraJane threw some popcorn at Jim. "We all thought it had something to do with the _Wizard of Oz_!"

"Whatever, let's see you do better!"

"Sorry, it's Pam's turn," SaraJane said, picking up Jim's discarded pencil, and giving it to Pam.

"I feel like I have so much to live up to, I mean, that tornado! Look at all of the detail—all of those swirls!"

"Whatever Beesley," he said, giving her a nudge, "this is the last round. We're only five points behind the Ligers—if you win, we'll only lose by four! Come on, you can do this!"

Pam, laughed, and headed over to get the clue from the bartender. She came back with a playful look in her eyes. The bell rang, and Pam started drawing. Jim had forgotten what a good artist she was, even after a night of drinking. As her sketch began to take shape, though, Jim choked on his beer. It was a couple having, well, "relations." The entire team seemed impressed, not only by her artistic abilities, but by the general subject matter.

"Sex and the City!"

"Sexual Healing!"

"I'm Too Sexy!"

"Casual Sex!"

Pam shook her head each time, laughing and pointing to the man in the drawing. The couple was on the floor, and the man was on top of the woman, with a big smile on his face. Jim took advantage of his position at the table, and leaned back just far enough to be able to see what The Ligers' drawing looked like. It was a man with a collar, reading a book to a bunch of other people. What! What did these two drawings have to do with one another? He looked back at the drawing, and then looked at Pam. He knew that laugh--she had something up her sleeve. He looked back at her drawing, and it suddenly dawned on him.

"Missionary!"

The bell rung. They had won that round. Their entire table burst out laughing, slapping Pam on the back for her clever hint. They lost to The Ligers, again, but celebrated with another round anyways. The rowdy table was filled with jokes and laughter and disparaging remarks about the members of The Ligers.

Finn poured Jim another beer. "Good move bringing Pam into the team, Jim. Maybe we can actually win now. We'll have to kick you out, of course, after the _Gone With the_ _Wind_ incident, but it's for the good of the team."

"Shut it, Finn. I formed this team. I'm the Godfather of this team," his voice rising with indignation. "'_Finn, you're my cousin, and I love you, but don't ever take sides against the family. Ever_.'" Jim did his best Michael Corleone impression, which was pretty bad.

The table burst out laughing. Jim looked over towards Pam, sitting next to Amy. Amy was slapping her hand against her leg, like she always did when he got her going. Pam threw her head back with laughter, and wiped the tears from her eyes. She got her giggles under control and looked over at Jim. Their eyes met for a moment, and then she started laughing uncontrollably again.

Jim was immediately brought back to the time when he made her laugh like this all of the time, and the sound of her laughter made the rest of this day worthwhile. He ran his hand through his hair, and tried to ignore the feeling rising through his chest. Maybe this friendship wasn't such a good idea, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim, Amy, Pam, and Phil shared a rowdy cab ride home, since the three of them lived in the same neighborhood, and Amy was spending the night with Jim. Pam's stop was first.

Pam was looking down, drunkenly trying to fish money out of her purse, when she heard a male voice say, "So, Pam, are we going to see you back at Olde City next Saturday?" It took a moment, in her beer-induced haze, to realize that it was Phil asking if she would be going, not Jim. She looked at the back of Jim's head, but because he was sitting in the front seat, she had no idea what his reaction to the proposal was. She decided she didn't care.

"Sure, that would be great. You guys could use the help."

Phil smiled and gave Jim a light punch on the shoulder. "Yeah, with people on the team who mix up Jack _Nicholas_ and Jack _Nicholson_, we could use some fresh blood."

Jim turned around, and to Pam's relief, he was smiling. "Listen, that was a damn-good drawing of Jack Nicholson. I challenge _you_ to translate the 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy' scene to paper."

"Yeah, but everyone was drawing people playing golf," Phil laughed.

"Sorry to interrupt the argument, but this is my corner," Pam said, reaching for the door handle.

"Pam . . ."

Pam turned towards him. This time, the voice was Jim's. Their eyes met for a moment, and silence filled the cab. Amy looked at Jim, and then at Pam. A disturbing feeling began to grow at the bottom of her stomach.

"Um . . . see you next week?"

"See you then."

* * *

It had been a rough week for Jim. As soon as they had gotten back to his place on Saturday night, Amy had asked him about Pam. He could tell she was trying to be casual, but he heard a hint of tension in her voice.

"So, how exactly do you know Pam?"

"Oh, we just used to work in the same office."

"Really? I don't think I would invite someone outif wejust workedtogether three years ago." She smiled tightly. "I mean, that's totally cool that you guys are still friends. Its just surprising, that's all."

"Oh well, it was a strange office. We kept each other sane."

"That's all?"

Jim looked at her. He knew what she was getting at. "Yes, that's all." It wasn't a lie. They were never more than friends. She had made sure of that.

Amy looked unconvinced, but dropped the topic.

Since then, though, he started to feel guilty. Maybe he should've told Amy. But told her what? He couldn't define their relationship back then, and he certainly couldn't describe what it was to anyone now. Really, what did it matter? Whatever had happened in their past, she was just a friend now.

* * *

Pam joined the team at Olde City the next Saturday, and the next one, and the one after that. She was really enjoying herself. For the first time since she had moved to the city, she felt like she was becoming part of a "group." She had made friends in the city—she and Susannah, a fellow receptionist at the publishing house, had become close. Two of her friends from high school lived in the city, and they got together a few times a month. She had gone on a few dates since her divorce was finalized, and even had someone she called her "boyfriend" for three weeks. It turned out that thetitle was premature. Despite a few missteps, she had been pretty content with her life. It wasn't until she began spending time with Jim and his friends that she realized how lonely she had been.

She didlove hanging out with Jim and his friends, but it was difficult to see Jim and Amy together. He always helped her with her jacket and always poured her beer before his own. She didn't think Roy ever poured her a beer, period. She burned with jealousy the first time she heard him call her "Amers;" it was just too cozy.

The worst thing was that Amy was hard to hate. She never had a bad thing to say about anyone, and that damn Minnesota accent was so . . . so . . . charming. She had a great sense of humor, and she always seemed to be in good spirits. In fact, Amy seemed to have made a point of making Pam feel like one of the gang. It was almost as if she was determined to make the two of them best friends. Amy always greeted Pam with a hug, and often pulled Pam over to talk with her and Theo.

* * *

At the end of the night, after another failed game of Pictionary, Pam found herself alone with Jim, waiting near the door while Amy and Phil were in the bathroom. Pam hadn't been alone with Jim since the day at Duane Reade. They were always with the crowd, and despite the fact that she genuinely enjoyed everyone's company, she was desperate to spend some time alone with Jim. She wanted to talk to him about how things had ended between them, about what she had gone through over the following year, and what she was feeling now. But more than anything, she wanted to move their relationship beyond the superficial point it was at right now. She wanted to be friends—real friends.

She had come up with a plan a few weeks ago, just in case she found herself alone with him. Now was the time. They were both putting on their coats and hats, the winter having reared its ugly head for the first time that week. "Hey, can I ask you a favor?"

He looked a little uncomfortable. Perhaps he, too, realized that this was the first time they had been alone. "Yeah, sure."

"Well, um . . . my super? He's really irresponsible. He hasn't returned my calls all week, and I haven't had any heat in my apartment. I think the lever to my radiator pipe is turned off, but I can't reach it, and I don't have a ladder." Pam knew how pathetic it was to play the poor distressed woman, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Of course, sure, I can come over and help."

"Great. When's good for you?"

"Well, its getting cold. I don't want you to freeze to death. What about tomorrow?" He sounded concerned. Pam was glad.

"Tomorrow's good. Why don't I give you my number, and you can just call whenever you have time to come over?

"Sure, sure. What's your number?" Jim said in a rushed manner, fumbling with his cell phone, ready to program it in. Pam understood. He didn't want Amy to see them exchanging phone numbers. She gave it to him quickly, hoping to finalize things before Amy arrived.

* * *

The conversation ended as Amy walked up to them. An awkward silence formed between the three of them. She shouldn't have left them alone. Phil was with the two of them when she had gone to the bathroom—damn him.

She immediately plastered a smile on her face and linked her arm with Pam's, pulling her close. "So, wasn't that so funny when Theo asked the waitress for a virgin Shirley Temple? Isn't he just so hysterical?"

Pam gave a small laugh and allowed herself to be pulled towards the door, and away from Jim. Amy smiled back at her. She had always prided herself on her good nature, but she wasn't going to let this little secretary get between her and Jim. Pam had no idea who she was dealing with.


	6. Chapter 6

Pam pulled on a sweater and hugged her arms around her chest. She had turned her heat down this morning, but as she rubbed her hands together for warmth, she began to wonder if she could have come up with a more comfortable plan to get Jim over to her house. She had spent the last three hours cleaning her tiny apartment, part out of an urge to impress Jim, and part out of nervous energy.

She jumped when her buzzer rang. She ran over to the door and pressed the intercom. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

The familiarity of the greeting sent a chill up her spine. On one hand, their friendship was so superficial—he had never called her on the phone until this morning, they never saw each other outside a big group—but on the other hand, they still felt so connected.

"Great. I'll buzz you up."

She looked around one last minute, and wondered what he would think of her place. Her studio apartment was small. The bed was pushed up against her refrigerator—not an ideal location, but the only place it would fit. She had a desk underneath a large window that faced Third Avenue. It was loud, and she heard trucks and cabs honking all day and night, but the window let in great light during the day. She loved to sit at her desk in the sunlight like a cat and draw in her sketchbook. She had filled two sketchbooks in the last few months of just scenes from outside that window. Besides her desk, she just had a lumpy recliner and footstool, a dresser, a bookshelf, and an old television with rabbit ears. Not exactly the big house she always thought she would share with Roy, but it was home.

Jim knocked on the door. "Who is it?" she called, with a sing-song voice.

A falsetto voice came from the hallway—a voice with a very bad French accent. "House-keeeeepingggg! Fresh towels? Meeents for your peeelow?"

Pam had to laugh. She had once told Jim about a summer job she had had in high school as a maid at the Hyatt in Wilkes-Barre. He had teased her about the French Maid thing for weeks.

"Where are the towels?" she asked as she let him in. "Really—I desperately need clean towels, and I'm in no mood to haul twenty pounds of laundry down the block."

"What—now I'm your on-call handyman _and_ maid?" He was laughing as he said it, but she immediately turned red. She suddenly felt so needy. Had she actually turned down the heat in her apartment and asked him to come fix it? She was so pathetic.

"Jim, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to waste your Sunday with me. I can handle it." Her expression had fallen from joy to embarrassment in just moments. She was even more mortified when she realized that she had said "waste your Sunday with _me._" She had meant to say "with _this_."

"Hey, Pam, don't even think about it." Jim looked concerned. "We're friends, you have no heat. I would never let you freeze." As he said the last part, he brought his hands up to her arms and rubbed up and down quickly, trying to warm her up. She tried to smile, but now she felt _really_ guilty for lying to him.

"So where is this infamous heating pipe?" He held up a small duffel bag. "I brought some wrenches, just in case it was tight."

* * *

Jim had to stand on the footstool to reach the lever on the heating pipe. As he was reaching up, he felt the footstool shift underneath him, and his left foot slip. He was stretching for the pipe to steady himself when he felt her hands on his waist. They burned like embers on his skin. The two of them stayed like that for a moment—his sweater riding up slightly as he reached for the steam pipe, with her hands resting above his belt.

He looked down at her and gave her a lopsided grin. "Guess I need to lay off the donuts. I don't know if this old footstool will hold me much longer." She snatched her hands back quickly and gave a small laugh.

He finally reached the lever on the heating pipe, and he found that it was easy to turn it onto the "on" position. The duffel bag of tools was overkill. He liked to feel useful, but this one didn't really take much skill on his part, just long arms.

"Give it twenty minutes, and it'll be a sauna in here. You might have to fight off some old fat sweaty guys in towels, but at least you won't freeze."

"Thanks—I think." She gave him another smile, the kind that used to make his stomach do somersaults. Those days were over, although he did detect a small tumble deep inside his chest.

"So . . . now what?" He hadn't meant to say it out loud. It was just something about that smile, and the fact that he could still feel where her hands had been on his skin.

"Oh, um . . . I guess that's it," she said, looking surprised.

An awkward moment of silence followed. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted her answer to be. He told himself he should just go, just get out of there. Without thinking, however, he started to look around her apartment, drinking in her details. It was small, but she had put her special touches on it. She had plants and framed pictures of her family on the window sill. There were colorful prints of artwork on the walls and an old record player on her bookshelf. Records? He wondered what she listed to now. She had eight pillows on her bed, and her comforter seemed old and worn down. It had faded into a light indigo, and Jim could tell just by looking at it that it was just as soft to the touch as his old University of Scranton t-shirt. His mind suddenly conjured up an image of Pam, lying in that bed on a lazy Sunday morning, with that soft old comforter curled up around her . . .

It was tough to get out that picture out of his head, but he tried valiantly. He tore his glance from the bed, and his eyes settled on her small kitchen. He was trying to figure out how she managed to get by without a microwave when his eye caught something on the stove—a small green teapot.

He cleared his throat. He realized that he sounded nervous, but went through with it anyways. "Well, I freed up most of my afternoon to wrestle with that heating pipe of yours, so I'd be up for it if you want to get a bite to eat or something."

* * *

They went to Molly's, an old Irish bar that served a great burger. It was one of Pam's favorites, and she wanted to introduce Jim to it. It was perfect for a winter day—there was sawdust on the floor, an old fireplace in the back, and dark velvet curtains that kept the cold at bay.

They warmed their toes by the fireplace, and warmed their stomachs with Guinness. This combination, along with the darkness of the corner booth they were sitting in, seemed to open things up between them. The conversation eventually drifted to their lives in New York.

Pam took another sip of Guinness. "I mean, I guess I thought it would be all glamour and fun and excitement, but really . . . I mean . . . don't get me wrong, I love it here, but . . . My friends back home think I see celebrities on every block and crazy 'New York-ey' things happen all the time. I hate to burst their bubbles, but I pretty much go to work and come home. That's about it."

"I know. I thought I'd have all of these OINK stories, but really, I only have like, three."

"OINK?"

"'**O**nly **I**n **N**ew Yor**k**.' Doesn't quite translate, but close enough."

Jim proceeded to entertain Pam with his three OINK stories— one where he accidentally became an extra in a movie filming on his block, one involving a chance encounter with Naomi Campbell (she did yell at him, but didn't throw her cell phone at him), and one involving a drag queen that challenged Jim to a drag race.

After Pam's laughter finally died down, she had to admit that she couldn't think of any OINK stories of her own.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have an altercation with a drag queen one of these days, and I better be the first one to hear about it."

She smiled warmly at him. "You are on the very top my list."

That damn smile again. He took a large gulp of beer, trying to calm that familiar feeling that was rising up his chest.

"I don't think I'll live here forever, and wherever I end up, I just hope I won't have regrets about this period of my life. I mean, I'm trying to do New York-ey things, but sometimes I just feel like I'm wasting my time here," she said, her voice suddenly softer.

She looked down at the table and picked unconsciously at her food. "I don't know, I just thought it would be different here, that _I_ would be different. I guess it just goes to show that you can't just run away and all your problems disappear."

He couldn't read her. What exactly was she talking about? When had their conversation shifted? He opted to say nothing at all, and to just let her talk.

"You know, I tried to call you a while ago. Back . . . when I was trying to decide whether I should move here. I called the Stamford branch, but you had already resigned, and you didn't leave a forwarding address. And there are a surprising amount of Jim Halperts on Google."

"Oh." He had no idea what to say. He found it was a struggle to find his voice. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

She finally looked up and met his gaze. Jim knew the answer—nothing more needed to be said.

"Oh."

"Yeah." She looked down at her drink again, gripping the glass with both hands. "I was just trying to figure some things out. I thought I needed your help, but eventually I just realized that I had to figure things out for myself."

"So what did you figure out?"

"I realized that I needed to end things with Roy. We couldn't make each other happy." Her words began to tumble out quickly, as if she was afraid that if she hesitated, they wouldn't come out at all. "You know what's strange? He wanted to have kids as soon as we got married. I never thought he would be in a rush, but he got this image of himself throwing a football around with his son in his mind, and he wanted to get started right away."

"Really?" Jim couldn't hide his surprise.

"Yeah, I know. And I always thought I wanted kids, always, but I found myself making all of these excuses why we should wait. Every night I would say I would stop taking the pill, and every morning I popped another one in my mouth. The thought of having kids—it was just too scary. I eventually realized, though, that it wasn't having kids that was scary, it was having kids with _Roy_. I felt like once we had kids, that was it, I was trapped, I was stuck. And then I was, like, what am I doing married to this person if I don't _want _to be stuck with this person? Isn't that what a marriage is supposed to be?" She looked up at him for a moment, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, don't—you're not rambling. So, what happened?"

"Not much else. It's pretty easy to get divorced in Pennsylvania. We didn't even last a year. Isn't that so sad? God, sometimes when I think about it, I just feel like such a failure. My parents have been married thirty years, and I couldn't even make it through one?"

Jim shook his head firmly. "No way. What would have been sad would be if you had allowed yourself to stay trapped in something that made you so unhappy."

"I know." She took another gulp of her beer—a big one. "What is really upsetting is that I feel like I wasted a lot of time on something that wasn't meant to be. I mean . . ." she tilted her head a little and looked into his eyes again. "I just feel like I wasted a lot of opportunities. Like there are a lot of things I wish I could've done differently."

Those words, along with Pam's steady gaze shook Jim to the core. He turned his head towards the fire roaring in the corner. He just needed a minute to think. He had no idea where to go from here.

* * *

"C'mere Tank," Pam said, patting the spot on her bed next to her. Frank obeyed and jumped up into the bed, eager for a belly rub. The immediacy of his response to his new nickname got her thinking about Jim, and how they seemed to have wormed themselves into each other's lives over the last few weeks.

It was just small things, like Pam starting to call Frank "Tank." That nickname had started when she and Frank had met Jim out for a walk along the East River Esplanade. They played catch in the dog run, and then took a break on a sunny bench facing the river. Frank had put his front paws in Jim's lap, and Jim grabbed hold of the shaggy dog's ears, and started chanting "Frank the Tank, Frank the Tank!"

Pam had looked at him like he was crazy, and Jim had responded with an equally incredulous look.

"Please tell me you are a Frank the Tank fan. It's only the best character in a true classic. You might have heard of it—Old School?"

The thought of Will Farrell funneling a beer immediately popped into Pam's mind, and she had begun to laugh. "We're going streaking!" she proclaimed, and unzipped her winter parka.

"Pam—don't get carried away," Jim had said, with mock seriousness. "I think you just gave that old guy sitting two benches down a heart attack."

Pam had looked over at an elderly gentleman sitting ten feet away, who had indeed looked very shocked. And interested.

It was just little things like that. Like how now he called her at work whenever he was bored, which was surprisingly often for a supposedly exciting job. And how natural it was when he stopped by her place unexpectedly last Saturday, and they spent the day eating popcorn and watching the Eagles get creamed. And how he called her before he went to bed most nights—most nights when Amy wasn't staying over.

And last week, when she finally had her first OINK moment, her first thought was, "I've _got _to call Jim." After she finished telling him her story involving a homeless man and a six-foot long paper mache horse, he couldn't stop laughing. The next day, she found a small ceramic pig in her mailbox, with a note that said, "Congratulations on your first of many OINK moments. Every time you see a belligerent person talking to paper mache horse, or really, any inanimate object, you can look at this pig and think of your buddy Jim. And always remember, it's not a true OINK moment until you share it with someone. Preferably me. Love, Jim."

That ceramic pig was sitting in the sun on her desk now, one of her most treasured possessions, along with her small green teapot.

* * *

"Hey Pam!" The female voice was chipper on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Pam, it's me, Amy!"

"Oh, hey Amy, what's up?" It seemed a little strange talking to Amy on the phone, especially since she had sensed some tension between Amy and Jim the last few weeks.

"Well, a couple of us are getting together tonight for dinner, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come. You know, it's just a group thing."

"Oh, sure, I could use a night out." She was a little confused as to why it wasn't Jim that was inviting her, but just assumed it was Amy's event to organize.

"Great. See you at eight. We'll meet you at Lombardi's."

* * *

Pam was a little early, so she put her name down for a table. She had no idea how many people would be there, but she assumed it would be around six people. At eight o'clock, she saw Theo, a member of the Pictionary team, come in the front door. She waved him over to the bar.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Hey Pam, great to see you again." He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, which Pam considered a little odd, but she just let it go as one of Theo's many quirks. He was a bit of a flirt, but Pam had never taken him very seriously.

"So who else is coming tonight?"

"Oh, I think it's just us and Amy and Jim."

Pam was surprised. "Really? I thought more people were invited."

"Nope, just us!"

Pam and Theo made conversation at the bar for the next twenty minutes. When Amy and Jim finally arrived, Pam was relieved. Theo was alright as a Pictionary partner, but to be honest, he was a bit obnoxious. She didn't know if she could take one more story about his big important job on Wall Street.

"Hey you two!" Amy said, enthusiastically. "Hope we aren't interrupting anything!" She seemed overly perky again, and gave Pam an obvious wink. When Pam saw the wink, it finally dawned on her what was happening. It was no accident that it was just the four of them—this was a double date.

"No—well, not yet anyways!" Theo said, laughing, and returned Amy's enthusiastic wink.

She was really shocked. Things had been going so well with Jim lately. Could he have set this up? She knew he was still with Amy, but still. Had she totally misread him? Pam was devastated at the thought, but one look at him assuaged her fears. He looked simultaneously confused, furious, and disappointed, and it was obvious that he had been just as in the dark about the evening as she had been. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but kept on looking from Amy to Theo and back to Amy.

At that moment, the hostess motioned for them to follow her to a table, and Theo and Amy left the bar.

Jim finally looked at Pam, and grabbed her arm. "Listen—I don't know what's going on here . . ."

"I have no idea either." She needed for him to understand. He couldn't think she wanted to go on a date with Theo, could he?

The relief in his expression was palpable. "Okay, good. I was just worried that you wanted to, you know . . ."

"No, I never would." She became aware that his hand was still on her wrist.

"Great. I mean, Theo's a good friend, but he can be a real sleaze, okay? So, please, just don't . . . "

His eyes were locked on hers, and she heard a hint of pleading in his voice.

"Of course. You don't need to say another word," she said softly.

He gave a little nod of his head and finally dropped her arm. She followed behind him into the dining room. Her last phrase kept on running through her mind. "You don't need to say another word."


	7. Chapter 7

The date was a disaster—for everyone except Pam, that is. Pam knew Lombardi's was Jim's favorite pizza place, but he barely touched his plate. He refused to participate in the conversation around the table, and instead spent most of the evening shooting deathly glares at Theo, who got more uncomfortable with each passing minute. In contrast, he barely looked at Amy.

Pam realized how much was missing when Jim wasn't involved in the conversation. Theo tried to diffuse the situation with his supposedly hilarious stories, but he didn't get much of a reaction from Pam, who had been bored the first time she had heard them earlier in the evening. Jim was in no mood to laugh, and Amy overcompensated by laughing too loudly. Pretty soon, the conversation petered out, and Amy was left desperately trying to find some common ground between Pam and Theo.

All in all, it was one of the most uncomfortable dinners Pam had ever attended. The tension between Amy and Jim was palpable. Usually when she arrived home from a bad date, she was filled with questions about whether she had made the right decision leaving Roy, but tonight, she was strangely content. Despite the fact that it had, empirically, been one of the worst dates of her life, something about the look that Jim gave Amy as they were getting into the cab gave her hope.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey, its me." He liked the fact that he could say that now, and she would know just who it was.

"Oh, hey." Sniffle.

"Pam, you sound awful. Have a cold?"

"Guess so. Can't breed. Head hurds." There was a deep sigh on the other line, followed by a round of deep coughs.

"So, I guess you're not up for going to a movie?"

"I've god snod dribbing oud of my node."

"Good point. Don't want to disturb anyone. Do you need anything? Like tissues or cough drops?"

"I'm okay."

"You sound like death. How about I just come over and check on you?"

"No, really, I'm fide."

"Too bad. I'll be over in fifteen minutes."

He hung up the phone and looked at his watch. Amy had gone to work an hour ago, and he had the rest of the day free. He couldn't let a friend suffer alone, right?

He made a quick stop, and was at her door in a flash. It took her a few minutes to buzz him in, and when she opened the door, he could see why. She looked worse than she sounded on the phone—her skin was pale, her nose was red from constant blowing, she had dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and she was wrapped up in an old ratty bathrobe.

"Whad are you looking ad?"

He had to laugh. "Pam, we're friends, right? Does that mean I can say that you look horrible, and you can't hit me?"

Evidently not. She was a cranky patient.

"Alright, alright, I deserved that. Never make fun a contagious person."

"Mmph," was the only response he got from Pam, who was already crawling back into bed, under that soft indigo comforter.

"Well, hopefully I can redeem myself," he said, holding up a bag of goodiesfrom the drugstore, "but first, when's the last time Tank's been out?" The dog was wagging his tail furiously at Jim's feet.

She had perked up a bit when she saw the bag. "Tissueds?"

"Yes, little Ms. I don't need anything, I brought you some tissues, along with some other presents. But I think your dog's bladder might burst soon. I'll be back in two minutes." He grabbed Frank's leash and Pam's keys from her bookshelf, and ran down to the sidewalk with the grateful dog. He realized that having a dog while you were stuck in bed must be a huge pain. He loved the furry gray mutt, and decided he would offer to take him off her hands for a few days. It's the least he could do for a friend.

After a quick jaunt around the block, and let himself back into her apartment. In the ten minutes he was gone, Pam had dozed off to sleep. He quietly started to make her some tea, but Frank jumped up onto the bed and woke her up. She looked up at him with half-focused eyes, the confusion obvious in her face.

"Hey Pam. I'm just making you some tea, okay?"

"Oh . . . yeah." It took her a moment, but she finally put things into place. "Thanks for walking Frank."

"No problem." He brought her a cup of tea, and briefly sat down on the edge of her bed while he handed her the hot mug. "Ready for the rest of your drugstore presents?"

She smiled and nodded, and he thought he finally began to see a light gleaming in her eye. He stood up again, and reached for the bag he had brought in earlier.

"Okay, first, the famous tissues," he said, holding up a large box. She gave a small laugh, and grabbed the box right out of Jim's hands. She immediately ripped it open and started blowing her nose.

"Sorry," she said, a blush creeping up her neck. "I ran out. I really needed a new box."

"Obviously. Who knew how grabby you were? Next, cough drops and Sudafed. Great stuff." He immediately threw them at her and drew back, with mock fear. "Don't hurt me!"

"Ha ha."

He held up five rented DVDs. "And the finale, and guaranteed cure for any ailment, a Christopher Guest movie marathon."

Pam's eyes finally lit up, and she almost spilled her tea with excitement. "Really?"

"Yup, your favorites. I've got 'Spinal Tap,' 'Waiting for Guffman,' 'A Mighty Wind,' 'Best in Show,' and 'For Your Consideration.' What do you want to start with?"

"Spinal Tab."

"Absolutely. 'For Your Consideration' might be my favorite, but you just can't beat 'these go to eleven.' Pure genius." The TV was already pointed towards the bed, so he popped the movie into the DVD player, and before he realized what he was doing, he sat down on the foot of her bed. The thought suddenly occurred to him that he had invited himself over to begin with, and then simply assumed she would want the company.

"Hey, I'm sorry, would you rather that I leave?"

"Whad? No, no, I wand you to stay." She was cuddled into a small ball, covered by her fluffy bedspread and fluffier dog. She looked up at him, and despite her runny nose, something about her gaze made him want nothing more than to sink into that warm bed with her.

"If you go, who will make me more tea?" She smiled again, and despite several warning bells going off in his head, he knew he would stay as long as she would have him. "Here, I'll move over. You can't really see from down there."

She scooted back against the wall, leaving plenty of room for Jim next to her. He moved up to the head of the bed, trying to figure out the best way to deal with the situation. He didn't trust himself to lie down next to her, so he decided to sit up against the headboard, but allowed himself stretch his long legs out next to her. It was a good compromise for the warring factions within him.

Pam propped her head up on several pillows so that she could see the TV over Jim's chest, but she quickly fell asleep.

Jim tried to pay attention to the movie, but his thoughts constantly turned to the woman sleeping next to him. She was beautiful. Even a ratty old bathrobe couldn't disguise that fact. He had never seen her sleeping before, and he realized that he could get used to the sight. Maybe it was the Sudafed, but she seemed to sleep with such peace, despite a sniffle every now and then. Jim knew he was a poor bedmate—a snorer, a kicker, and a bed hog. In contrast, she seemed so content, and even had a small smile on her lips. He wondered what she was dreaming about. Fora moment, before he forced himself to bury the thought deep down where it had been living for many years, wondered if maybe she had been dreaming about him.

* * *

After the movie ended, he forced himself to leave. Being in such close proximity to her had been a painful mixture of heaven and hell.He had gotten over her long ago, he honestely knew that. But that fact didn't mean that something new couldn't surface. Thoughts of their days back at Dunder-Mifflin weren't what made him lie awake with an aching heart--it was the memory of her victorious dance when they finally beat the Ligers in Pictionary, and the sight of her bounding across the park with Frank during a spirited game of frisbee. He knew he was starting to slide down a slipperly slope, and he was tired of fighting it.

But part of him insisted on the fight. He couldn't forget about Amy. The time with Pam today had done nothing but add to his confusion, and he knew he couldn't be there when she woke up. He wrote her a quick note, explaining that he would watch Frank for a day or two, until she felt up to taking care of him. He grabbed the dog's leash and a small bag of food, and with a quick look back at her curled up in bed, he headed home.

* * *

He couldn't have known what trouble the dog would be. It wasn't Frank's fault—he was the perfect houseguest, but the seemingly innocent act of helping out a friend in need did not sit well with Amy when she stopped by Jim's house and saw Jim cuddled up with the shaggy dog, watching football.

"I just don't understand why _she_ asked you to take care of _her_ dog." Amy's tone of voice made it very clear that their fight was not about the dog.

Jim was exasperated. He had been trying to explain the situation for the last twenty minutes. "_She _is a friend and needed some help. _She _didn't ask me to do it—she wasn't even awake when I left with him."

Amy's eyes narrowed a bit. "So she was sleeping? How long were you over there for?"

"We watched a movie. Is that a problem?" His voice was serious. He was challenging her. He didn't know why, but he felt like he was pushing the issue farther than it needed to be pushed.

"No. You're just friends, right?"

Jim suddenly heard a hint of desperation in her voice. He immediately regretted using such a harsh tone with her. "Of course," he said, softly this time. "Just old friends."

"Okay. I'm sorry." She stepped close to him, and rested her head on his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her as she quietlyrepeated, "I'm sorry."

They had had this conversation several times before, and Jim had always given the same answer. This time, however, a new feeling was rising in the pit of his stomach. This time, he knew he was lying.


	8. Chapter 8

It was three days before Christmas. Pam had been doing some last minute shopping for her sister. She loved Christmas, but especially Christmas in the city. Like everywhere else, all of the stores were decorated with lights, but the sheer number of businesses lit up each block like nothing she had ever seen. Even though people couldn't decorate their houses or yards like they did in Scranton, Pam loved looking up at the high rises and seeing Christmas lights on each balcony and window.

In Scranton every year, Roy helped his nephew's boy-scout troop sell Christmas trees. They set up in a big parking lot at the local church, and Pam brought Roy hot chocolate every night. The smell of hot chocolate and pine trees always reminded her of Roy.

Pam quickly learned that, in New York, there are no spare parking lots in which to sell Christmas trees, so entrepreneurs just set up small operations on the sidewalk, sometimes just two or three blocks from one another.A few people were always standing around selling the trees, each one decked out in long johns and drinking hot chocolate. The first year she was in New York, fresh off of her divorce and away from home for the first time during the holiday season, each time she passed a Christmas tree stand, she wanted to cry.

This year, as she walked through the pine trees, she was brought back to those times with Roy, but the memories did not bring her to tears. This year, she finally felt at home in New York.

* * *

The next morning, Pam was awoken by the phone ringing by her head. 

"'llo?" she mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Hey Pam, hope I didn't wake you up." Jim's voice was deep and gravelly, as if these words were the first he had spoken in a while. Pam looked at her alarm clock.

"Its 6:00 on a Saturday morning. Yes, you woke me up."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Take a look out your window, and then meet me outside your apartment in fifteen minutes. I'll bring the hot chocolate. Sound good?"

She gave a quick glance out her window, and saw a few thick snowflakes floating by. Surprisingly, it hadn't snowed more than an inch or two all winter. It looked like they finally got some accumulation during the night.

She yawned, and for a second contemplated staying in bed. The thought only lasted a moment, however. "Okay. I like extra marshmallows."

* * *

She stepped out onto her stoop, and was overtaken by the sight. She understood why Jim had woken her up so early. Two feet of snow had fallen, and blanketed the entire city. Piles of snow were hanging from the trees that lined the street, and the cars that normally lined the street had been replaced by large mounds of snow. It was beautiful, fluffy, pure white snow. In the city, snow didn't stay white and pure for very long, so the only way to see it was to wake up before the rest of the city. The thing Pam was most amazed at was the way the snow muted every sound. Snow quieted Scranton, too, but the effect was magnified in New York, where the sounds of the city had become so mucha part of her that she only noticed them when they were absent. 

Atthe bottom of her stoop, holding a styrofoam cup, stood Jim. He was wearing his well-worn grey wool coat, and a fuzzy maroon scarf Pam knew his sister had given to him five years ago. His eyes were still small with sleep, but when he saw her, he spread his arms wide, and a huge grin formed on his face.

"Like it? I did it all just for you."

Chills ran up her spine, and she drew her old parka closer around her. She had no idea what to say in response, and she instinctively looked down at the ground for a moment. She gathered her courage, and raised her eyes to meet his. They stood there, looking at each other, until Pam gave a small laugh.

"Help me down?" She reached out her mittened hand for his, and she cautiously slipped down the stairs with his assistance. When she finally got down to the sidewalk, she could have sworn he gave her hand a small squeeze before he let go.

He handed her the cup of hot chocolate. "Extra marshmallows."

She opened the lid and took a sip, the strong scent of hot chocolate mingling with the crisp smell of snow. She knew that from this moment on, the smell of hot chocolate would remind her of Jim and the snow, not of Christmas trees and Roy.

They set off side-by-side for Central Park, creating new tracks in the fresh snow on the sidewalks. The sky was still purple with dusk, and not wanting to interrupt the perfect stillness of the morning, Jim and Pam instinctively talked in low voices.

"So its okay I woke you up so early?"

"Okay? Yes, I'm so glad you did. Otherwise, by the time I got up, the plows would have already tore up everything, and the snow would be sooty and brown. I've never seen the city so beautiful."

"I try to do this every time we get a big storm. Doesn't it feel like we are the only people in the world?"

He was right. They hadn't seen a car or a pedestrian on the entire block. But it was more than that. Pam didn't know whether it was the early hour, or the surreal environment, but she felt like no one existed outside of the two of them—no Amy, no Roy. No past, just this moment.

The walk was tiring, but the destination was well worth it. The fields of Central Park spread out before them, the blanket of snow virtually untouched. Pam always found the juxtaposition of the sprawling lawns and the surrounding high rise buildings to be interesting, but this morning, everything seemed magnified.

They decided to head to Belvedere Castle, so that they could get a view from the highest point in the park. A few cross-country skiers and pedestrians had the same idea, and shared friendly greetings with Pam and Jim. Otherwise, they were alone.

They finally made it to the observatory on the second floor of the castle, and the entire park lay at their feet. They stood in silence, Pam overwhelmed at the beauty of the city that had somehow become her home over the last few months. The wind was a bit more biting than it had been on the ground, and with a shiver, Pam wrapped her arms around herself.

Jim looked down at her, and unraveled his scarf. He placed it on her shoulders, and slowly wound it around her neck. His gave the scarf a small pat when he was done, and she smiled up at him.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I was hot anyways."

Jim leaned against the railing, and Pam joined him, standing right next to him. Their shoulders touched, and Pam was sure that if they weren't both covered in layers, he would feel her skin start to burn.

Below them, they saw an older woman totter through the snow, wearing only a thin gold jacket and designer leather boots. She was talking on her cell phone and typing on her blackberry at the same time. Behind her, a tiny dog bounded up and down, at times obscured by the drifts. The Chihuahua was wearing small gold boots and a matching gold jacket, with a crystal-studded collar and leash.

Pam, fascinated by the woman, hadn't noticed that Jim was leaning in towards her until she felt his hot breath in her ear.

"Hey," he whispered.

She jumped, startled not just by his voice, but his proximity. He did not immediately pull back, in fact, in seemed as though he leaned in a fraction on an inch further. He was so close she could see the small snowflakes resting on his eyelashes and the little brown flecks in his eyes, which seemed to be trained on her own. She finally tore her eyes away from his, and subconsciously started to fidget with her left ring finger, an old habit left over from the days when she wore something on that finger.

The moment passed, and Jim moved back to a more polite distance. The comfortable banter they had been engaged in all morning was quickly replaced by an awkward silence.

Pam immediately cursed herself. What was wrong with her? She had been praying for some sign that Jim still had feelings for her. This was it, right? Why was Jim here with her, instead of Amy? He had just been so close she could feel his breath on her. Why couldn't she just do something?

* * *

She was staring out towards the park. It wasn't until his hands began to ache that he realized that he had had a death grip on the railing. He let go, and ran his hand through his hair, thinking about how close he had just been to her. All it would've taken was one more inch, and he would have kissed her. 

The last few days had been rough. After the dog incident, he felt more and more guilty. Guilty about his rising feelings for Pam, guilty about lying to Amy. He must have been acting more distant, because Amy seemed to be clinging more and more tightly to him. The breaking point came a few days ago, when Amy had stopped by his place after a long day of work bartending. Jim had nothing to do while she was working, so he had called Pam. It was completely innocent, she had come over and they had made homemade pizza and drank some wine. When Amy arrived, Jim had to admit it was a little tense. Pam left twenty minutes later, after some forced friendliness on both Amy's and Pam's parts.

As soon as the door closed behind Pam, the fighting began. It would have lasted longer, but Jim couldn't say much to defend himself. The evening had been innocent, nothing had happened, but his protests were weak, and he knew it.

Finally, she grabbed his hand, and with more pleading in her voice than anger, she asked him to stop seeing Pam.

"What do you mean?"

"Stop seeing her. Don't invite her places. Stop being her friend. Please." Her eyes began to water.

Oh god. He had made her cry. He couldn't handle that. He hung his head, but didn't say anything.

"Can you do that for me?"

He finally met her eyes, and hating every inch of himself, shook his head no.

That had been it. He hadn't talked to her since.

And now he was standing here, in the lightly falling snow, next to the woman he had given up Amy for, and he couldn't do a thing.

"Jim?" Her voice sounded timid.

He cleared his throat and looked towards her. "Hey."

"Jim, I've been thinking a lot about . . . things. About what the chances are that we would find each other again." She turned towards him, the snow falling a bit heavier now.

Find each other. Not run into one another, find each other. Like they had been looking for each other all along.

"Yeah, me too."

"And I realized that I've been given another chance, and I'm not going to get a third one."

He found his words caught in his throat.

"I know you and Amy are happy, and I'm not here to interfere with that. But I know that I made a mistake with you once before because I was afraid. But I'm not afraid anymore. I've lived with too much regret over the past three years. So I'm going to tell you that I love you. And I'm not going to expect anything from you, but I'm not going to sit here silently anymore. So . . . there. That's it."

She must have gotten the chills again, because she wrapped her arms around her chest, but she never took her eyes off him. A small tear formed in the corner of her eye.

He couldn't find any words that would describe it. All he knew was that his heart felt like it would burst. Because the words weren't coming, all he could do was slip one arm around her waist, and kiss her. It was just a kiss, a simple kiss, but it was all he needed. They had found one another again, and he would never let her go.

The end.


End file.
